


A Function of Time

by CarrieAnn



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Reconciliation, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-23 23:31:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6133879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarrieAnn/pseuds/CarrieAnn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity knows that healing takes time, but what else will it take to let Oliver in again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Function of Time

**Author's Note:**

> While this is not particularly speculative, it is set around what would probably be the S4 Finale. One very minor spoiler has been included, but I didn't consider or address anything else. Thanks to apinknightmare for a special international consultation.

* * *

She's on her way out to check on the mobile setup in the A.R.G.U.S. van when Felicity hears Oliver call her name from the other side of the lair. She turns in surprise, her fingers hovering at about clavicle level on the zipper of her black hoodie, but she can’t see where the call came from. Her short boot heels clack loudly in the quiet of the lair as she walks back, peeking around a couple of corners and gear stations until she spots him sitting at the round table.

“Oh, there you are,” she says, walking toward him. "I thought you were gone."

Oliver's head is bowed low, and his arms are pulled into his sides, his blue henley stretching around his hunched shoulders. He looks as small as is possible for a man of his size. As she approaches and sits down in the chair next to him, he looks up with a half-smile, but Felicity hardly notices because of the tears standing in his eyes.

"Oliver..."

He blinks twice and huffs out something that could be a sigh or even a laugh, but still doesn't say anything. His hands twist together between his knees.

"What is it?" she asks, searching his face. "Malcolm?"

He nods.

"Are you...worried? That you can't beat him?"

"No," Oliver says, finally. "No, I can beat him."

"Yes. You can. I mean, we have a solid plan, and he _is_ missing a hand, so...but even if he weren’t, I still think you--anyway, it's not that. So, what is it?"

A small smile rests on his lips, but disappears as he says, "I'm--you know, I thought I'd already done it, once before. Killed him." He glances up at her for recognition.

"Yeah, I know. Would have been better for everyone if he'd just stayed dead."

Oliver's eyes drop closed as his head bobs gently. He scrapes a palm across his jaw and takes a deep breath, and when he opens his eyes again, he really looks at her for the first time since she sat down. "The last time...I left town for five months afterward."

Felicity smiles, her voice gently teasing. "Yeah, I remember that too." Then something panicky stirs in her gut. "You're not...?"

"No," he says, shaking his head quickly.

"Okay, good, because you're the mayor now, so."

"I was just thinking about that time," he says. "Running straight from that rooftop to the Glades, finding Tommy...like that. You know what he said to me before he died?"

Felicity isn't sure whether the question is rhetorical, or whether Oliver thinks she could have forgotten, so she doesn't answer. Instead she just lays a hand tentatively on his, between his knees.

Oliver continues, "He asked if I'd killed his father. And I..." he shakes his head briefly, eyes widening. "I just lied. And I don't regret that. I don't, because he looked so--" Oliver breaks off, swallowing dryly. "He looked so relieved, Felicity, and I'm grateful that I could give him that, at least. But I _did_ regret killing Malcolm. I regretted it then, and I regretted it even more when I learned about Thea."

Felicity sighs, "Oliver--"

"But you're right. It _would_ have been better if he had died that night. I'd already made the best peace I could with it. And he would never have been able to hurt Thea, or Sara, or Nyssa, or--"

"Oliver," Felicity starts again, more firmly this time. "It's not your fault Malcolm survived, like the world's most persistent cockroach. You can't keep thinking this way."

He shakes his head. "No, that's not actually...I wasn't--"

Felicity asks, "Then what is it?"

"I wish I'd killed him then because I don't want to kill him _now_." Oliver drops his eyes back to his lap, where he seems almost surprised to see her hand resting on his, but then he reflexively folds their hands together, a little desperately. "I hate him, and I never want him to be able to hurt anyone else, ever again, and it has to be done, but I just..." his voice falters, and comes back in a helpless whisper, "I don't want to do it."

Felicity goes very still as her mind races to process this information. _Is there time to change the plan? Could we swap Oliver out for someone else? Who else could defeat Malcolm? Nyssa? She would relish the chance, but can she get here in time? Maybe not, but--_ "Then you don't have to do it, Oliver. I'm sorry if we...I promise no one will pressure you to do this--we'll just find another way--I'll, I’ll call Dig and--"

"No, I--thank you, Felicity." Oliver takes a breath and blows it back out. "I know it's the right thing to do. I know I'm the only one who can match up with him—even one-handed. I'm just...trying to accept it in advance, be honest about my intentions. It feels less cowardly, somehow."

"No part of this could be considered cowardly, Oliver."

He shrugs slightly, absently sliding her fingers between his, as though they never stopped doing this. "He was the only family Tommy had. And Thea and I—we don't have much either. But they deserved better than him, and I can't keep holding onto that—making it more important than the lives he's taken and the damage he's done."

Felicity can feel a familiar smile on her face, one that reaches her eyes, one she's kept mostly hidden for months now. But not today. "You're wrong about that."

At Oliver's perplexed look, she stammers, "Oh, no--not about that last part. Malcolm is a horrible monster and shared DNA doesn't change that. And yes, Tommy deserved better, and so does Thea."

Oliver nods, his jaw clenching a bit.

"But you're wrong that you don't have much family," Felicity says with a shrug. "I mean, what are we--” she gestures at the lair behind her "--chopped liver?" Her smile fades a bit as she continues, “You know, I don’t have a lot of biological family either, and I sent 50% of it to prison this year, but I could do that because I had you—all of you—beside me.”

Oliver says nothing, but his eyes seem to burn into her and she can't take it, so she takes a quick breath and then asks. "So, what do you want me to do?"

After a moment, he purses his lips in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you--" she clears her throat "--you called me over here. What did you want me to do?"

Oliver smiles softly. "Nothing." And for the first time, his face is clear. Warm and open. "You already did it. I just...wanted to talk to you about it. Trying not to handle everything by myself all the time."

"Oh," Felicity manages to whisper.

Ten weeks of moments seem to suddenly pile up, like scattered playing cards shuffling together to become a deck.

Oliver, at loose ends after ending his campaign, a light appearing in his eyes when she suggested that he might just win on write-in votes anyway, calling Alex to see what he could do to run a silent campaign.

Oliver, in one of several moves in that campaign, stage-right of the podium when Felicity announced that PT would move its manufacturing facilities back to Star City, accelerating the development of Curtis’s biochip.

Oliver, helping to organize the people of Star City to defend and police their own neighborhoods, asking her to create secure messaging systems that would allow for anonymity to protect against retaliation.

Oliver, working with Captain Lance to offer protection to IA detectives to help root out the corruption in the SCPD.

Oliver, sitting next to Felicity in the courtroom during Damien’s trial, giving the legal system a chance to help where it failed the city so many times in the past.

Oliver, asking her whether she trusted A.R.G.U.S., even with Lyla in charge, and then reaching out to them for assistance with H.I.V.E. and with this final battle.

Oliver, giving her the space she asked for so many weeks earlier. He couldn’t stop apologizing and he couldn’t keep his feelings off his face, but he never asked her for anything.

Oliver, this morning, bringing her a book she’d left behind as a pretext to offer her his journal as well. _I just thought, if you happen to be in a reading mood...I finally filled this one up, believe it or not, so I’m onto a new one, and--well, if you want to read it, you can. I only started writing it so I would remember all the things I needed to tell you someday._

_Oliver,_ she said. _I don’t want this._ He looked a little destroyed at that, and Felicity quickly clarified, _No--I meant, I don’t need to read it. If you want to tell me these things someday, then you will._

Oliver, tonight, unburdening. He _is_ trying, and she has seen it. But two months spent pondering the math— _if X quantity of Good Acts outweighs Y number of lies, does that mean that Z will never happen again?—_ had brought her no closer to a satisfactory solution.

But now, Felicity is looking into his face, and he’s just confessed that he doesn’t want to do the thing he promised, but that he will anyway, and that’s it—he just wanted to talk to her, because he’s trying not to be so closed off.

She finds that she believes him on all counts.

And she finds that his hand feels nice around hers. That it feels right.

And she thinks maybe there is no series of steps, no correct quantity of words or deeds that can add up to equal trust. Maybe it’s like what Paul said about healing. Maybe it’s just a function of forces in action over an unknowable amount of time.

“Thank you. For telling me,” Felicity says, voice thick. “You won’t have to handle tonight alone either, you know? You have us, you have A.R.G.U.S.—hell, you have a whole city behind you. And Oliver, you can just say the word, and I’ll let Lyla know we need to change plans.”

“Yeah,” he says, straightening up in his chair, pulling away as though he senses the conversation is over. But she doesn’t let go of his hand.

“What about after?” she asks, eyes cast down to their intertwined hands. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do when it’s over?”

Oliver blows out a breath. “Haven’t had time to think about that, honestly…. I mean, I’ll have to put the city council back together, I suppose, and--”

“No,” she says with a little smile. “I’m talking about tomorrow _—_ after we beat Malcolm, and after you’ve slept for the first time this week _—_ have any plans?”

He squints, confused.

“Because, me personally?” Felicity says, letting the smile spread a little wider. “I could really go for Big Belly Burger.”

“Oh...kay,” he says, slowly.

“Oliver,” she laughs. “I’m trying to get you to ask me out.”

Oliver’s face goes slack, and then he sputters, “Out? On a--”

“Yes. Please. If you want to. This is going to be a really long night, and I need something to look forward to, and I--” she lets out a breath in a rush-- “I really miss you and I love you and I want to celebrate all of that with greasy food and milkshakes.”

She’s sure he has no idea that his mouth is hanging open. She squeezes his hand to prompt him. “Oliver. Say something.”

“I--” he starts, eyes wide and dazed. “I have your ring.” His eyebrows furrow as though that is not what he intended to say.

Felicity chuckles again, but her heart flutters at the thought of it. “Keep it. We’ll build back up to that, okay? First, you could just...ask me out?”

“Oh, yes, okay—Felicity, will you go to breakfast with me?”

“Um, I was thinking dinner tomorrow--”

“Too far away. I want to go as soon as possible when this is all over. Big Belly is 24 hours, right?”

“I--okay, yes, but then afterwards, we are seriously going to bed.”

Oliver's eyebrows pop up.

“ _To sleep._ Because of the...late nights. Not so much sleeping. Lately.”

“Mm-hmm,” he says, biting his lip. And then he’s leaning toward her, his hand suddenly on her knee, and she is one hundred percent sure sleep deprivation is going to be an ongoing concern for the foreseeable future. “Felicity,” he says, his voice an octave lower and a little shaky. “I’m going to kiss you now. Before our date. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” she says, eyes drifting down to his mouth. “I think that would be--” Felicity loses the rest of her words, and most of her thoughts, to the press of his lips on hers. All that’s left is pure sensation—being engulfed by him, by the familiar rhythm of them. And the feeling reminds her of nothing so much as the moment her body regained communication with her legs; like a call that had been going out unanswered for months, and was finally received.

_Oh, there you are._


End file.
